


And Plead the Cause

by Melanie_Athene



Series: To Err Is Human [20]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fix-It, M/M, Post Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 04:57:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melanie_Athene/pseuds/Melanie_Athene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emotions run high in the aftermath of the attack on Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Plead the Cause

Over loud and vehement protests, most of them exploding from Dean's mouth in a steady stream of expletives, Castiel unceremoniously shepherded the three hunters down to the panic room and followed them inside. The thick and heavy door closed behind him with a determined slam as, without a glance towards his grumbling companions, Castiel strode across the room until he stood in front of a well-stocked armoire. After careful deliberation, he selected a little wooden box which contained a holy relic: a _brandea._ Opening the box, he tilted Dean's shirt until the coin tumbled from the pocket and clanked inside. Once it was safely shrouded by the little scrap of ancient cloth, Castiel firmly closed the lid. His lips moved in silent prayer, further blessing the box and shielding its contents from those who sought it. Gingerly then, as if the box was a ticking time bomb, he set it back on a shelf, nestled amidst the clutter of other arcane objects. As an afterthought, a sharp wave of his hand incinerated Dean's contaminated shirt, until not even a speck of ash remained.

“Cas...” Dean said.

The angel ignored him in favour of examining every surface, every nook and cranny of their refuge. And then he made a second circuit of the room, carefully re-enforcing the wards where necessary and, in some instances, making enhancements to them. Then, and only then, did he permit himself a sigh of relief.

“Happy now?” Dean snapped.

“You should be safe here,” Castiel allowed.

 _“We_ should be safe,” Dean corrected, a frown creasing his forehead. _“We._ As in the four of us.”

“No, Dean. _You._ You and your brother and Bobby. I'm sorry, but I must go. I will return for you as soon as possible.”

“And just where the hell do you think you're going?”

“There.” Castiel tipped his chin to indicate the building above their heads. “And everywhere else that I am needed.”

“Cas – ”

“Dean, I have silenced the alarm, but Bobby's house is still vulnerable to attack. I will effect the necessary repairs, both corporeal and incorporeal, but I must be prepared to assume my true form without a moment's notice. That could prove detrimental to your well being.”

“I'm willing to take that chance.”

“I'm not.”

“Cas!” Dean stretched out his hand to grasp an arm in protest, but the angel was already in motion. Dean's fingers scrabbled for a purchase on tan fabric, but Castiel slipped away, leaving his mate frozen in place, holding only an empty trench coat. 

“I'm sorry, Dean,” Castiel repeated, opening the panic room door and briskly stepping outside. The image of Dean's furious green eyes stayed with him as he closed and bolted the door, sealing the humans inside. He stood there for a few minutes, his head bowed in regret, until he heard the answering slide of a bolt from the other side.

Nothing in, nothing out. Dean was safe. He would make amends later. 

Castiel was about to vanish when the thought _if there is a later_ abruptly took root in his mind. In solemn response, he touched an index finger to the lock, a small pulse of Grace surging out to envelop the metal with a bright, cold glow. Slowly, the swirling cloud of light morphed into the Enochian form of his name. Only he could open the door from this side now. A second touch of his finger, and the letters turned a rich and vivid blue. The angel nodded, well satisfied with his contingency plan. After seventy-two hours, the sigil would fade and the bolt would automatically be released. That should be more than enough time for him to accomplish all that he had to do. And if he didn't return... well... at least he would die knowing he had not sentenced his friends to a slow, painful death in their prison.

 

~*~

 

“Sonofabitch!” Dean kicked the door in growing frustration. “I'm going to kill him.”

“No you won't,” Sam said. Swinging his legs over the side of the narrow cot where he'd been quietly resting for most of the past two days, he sat up and turned his head to follow the sound of his brother's angry pacing. “You'll yell – a lot – and then you'll kiss him senseless.”

“Shut up, jerk.”

“Make me, bitch.”

“Why don't the both of you shut the fuck up?” Bobby roared. “Christ on a cracker, I'd rather be caged with a werewolf under a full moon.”

“Sorry, Bobby,” Sam and Dean chorused. Neither brother looked the least bit sorry.

Bobby sighed and sent a little prayer Castiel's way, urging him to make haste before someone snapped and murdered the others in their sleep.

 

~*~

 

Castiel's first order of business was securing the house from the elements. This could easily have been accomplished solely with the use of his angelic powers, but he took great satisfaction in applying the carpentry skills he had acquired while working with Father Desmond and the Habitat For Humanity crew. Granted, it took more time, but it felt good to set the damage he had caused to rights with his own two hands. So he saved his Grace for those things otherwise impossible to fix: the broken windowpanes, the shattered dishes, the charred and torn books in Bobby's study...

Slowly, carefully, he moved from room to room, repairing, sweeping, tidying, until all was back in place, or as 'in place' as the habitual disorder that was Bobby's home allowed.

Restoring the wards took less time, but was no less meticulously accomplished. He should have felt relief that nothing – no one – intruded before the last sigil was positioned but, instead, his unease grew. He could sense a horde of restless creatures circling the house like a pack of ravenous wolves.

Briefly, he debated leaving his humans in the panic room while he investigated the dangers that lurked outside, but a sharply barked prayer to 'move his goddamned feathery ass' quickly persuaded him that continuing to deny Dean his freedom would be extremely unwise. And Bobby was anxious to start researching Sam's blindness.

No use postponing the inevitable. He was an Angel of the Lord: a seasoned warrior, not a child dreading punishment.

Though he had to admit the image Dean projected of turning him over his knee and spanking his bare bottom until it tingled was... intriguing. Perhaps, he could finally learn the answer to his question about the pizza man and the babysitter... 

Of course, it would be Dean's hand that would suffer in any such an encounter, so maybe that wasn't a good idea.

 _Make up sex, Cas,_ Dean wheedled, as if sensing his mate's reluctance and swiftly changing tracks. _There's nothing quite like it. Oh, the things I'll do to you... The things you can do to me..._

Castiel shook his head to clear away a barrage of cheerfully pornographic scenes. 

Heaven's above, but the man was both persistent and dangerously distracting. That alone was reason enough to set him free, so that Castiel could safely concentrate on the task at hand.

Of course, to be honest, a far more compelling motive was that he simply missed Dean.

 

~*~

 

Sam, as usual, was right. There was a lot of yelling when the panic room door was finally opened. And then there was a silence so sudden and complete that only one of two things could have happened: Castiel had decide to smite his infuriating human on the spot, or he had ended the angry tirade by covering Dean's mouth with his own. From the retching noises Bobby was making, Sam's money was on the latter.

“Come on, Sam,” Bobby muttered, placing a guiding hand on the young hunter's arm. “Don't know about you, but I'm sick of dry rations. I could also use a shower and a good stiff drink – not sayin' which one I need most.”

The door magically swung shut behind them with a resounding crash.

Bobby snorted in amusement as they slowly climbed the stairs. “Guess Dean's not in a hurry to escape that room after all.”

“Not when everything he wants is in there with him,” Sam quietly agreed.

 

~*~

 

“Dean!” Castiel cried, breaking free of a fiery kiss that left him gasping for air – air he truly did not require, but somehow could not convince his vessel to stop craving at this particular moment. “Dean, we don't have time for this.”

“We'll make time,” Dean replied, wriggling closer in a way which pressed the burning column of his erection more firmly against the angel's thigh.

“This...” Castiel panted. “This is how we got into trouble in the first place.”

“Mmmm.” Dean hungrily nibbled his way down Castiel's neck, pausing only long enough to suck a vivid bruise on a sharp collarbone before kissing his way back up to breathe in Castiel's ear, “So... you wanna stop?”

“No,” Castiel growled, roughly loosening his tie.

“Didn't think so.” Dean smirked and dropped to his knees, eager fingers fumbling with a stubborn zipper.

“Dean!” Castiel repeated helplessly, as the human's warmth finally enveloped his straining flesh. “Yes, Dean! Like that! Oh... _oh...”_

 

~*~

 

“Did you feel that?” Bobby inquired, his head lifting sharply. “That tremor?”

“Like an earthquake?” Sam said, as seriously as he could manage. But before Bobby had time to respond, the young hunter began to laugh. “Uh, yeah,” he snickered, struggling to regain a semblance of self-control. “I'm pretty sure the earth moved – especially for Dean.”

Bobby flushed and chose to remain silent, returning his attention to the book spread open on his desk and doing his best to ignore how the overhead lights flickered and dimmed and flared in turn.

“Aftershock,” Sam warned, as a series of lesser vibrations rattled freshly restored windowpanes. “Damn, but that angel has stamina.”

“Stow it, Sam,” Bobby growled. “Can't a man read in peace?”

Sam grinned, but did not press the joke any further. Instead, he sat in silence, trying hard not to fidget as long minutes passed and his inner turmoil grew. He should be helping, damn it! He hated sitting here like a damsel in distress, unable to lift a finger in his own defence. His fingers itched to hit the keyboard. He longed with every fibre of his being to do his thing: research the fuck out of any given situation. Well, that was obviously out of the question now... but be damned if he was just going to sit here twiddling his thumbs.

Sam stood and shuffled a few steps forward, in what he firmly believed was the right direction.

“You need something, Sam?” Bobby asked, gruffness failing to mask the concern in his voice.

“Thought I'd make myself a sandwich. Maybe whip some up for all of us.”

“Uh-huh,” Bobby said noncommittally, watching Sam's slow progress with an eagle eye. “Need any help?”

“No.” Sam bumped into a chair, and adjusted his course accordingly. “I'm good.”

Bobby's footsteps ghosted beside him. The heat of his hand hovered near Sam's arm, but the old hunter remained respectful of Sam's desire to fend for himself. Sam clenched his teeth and kept on going. Eventually, his fingertips brushed against a wall and Sam heaved a silent sigh of relief. Now that he knew exactly where he was, he strode confidently though the darkness, knowing the way as well as he knew the back of his own hand. 

Inevitably he walked into the kitchen doorframe. 

“Fuck!” he cried, and this time didn't even consider shaking Bobby's hand off his elbow.

“You're doin' great, son,” Bobby murmured. “How about I set stuff out on the table and you make the sandwiches?”

And if Dean lamented the fact that his ham and cheese sandwich featured ketchup rather than mustard or mayo, he didn't say a word. He was too damned proud of his brother to complain.

 

~*~

 

With very little coaxing on Dean's part, Castiel agreed to delay his self-appointed mission and remain with the humans for the evening instead. He justified this decision by stating that he needed to be absolutely certain all the wards were operating successfully before he left.

 _Post-coital bliss has him wrapped around Dean's little finger,_ was Sam's private assessment. A belief that all too soon was re-enforced when, around 11:30 pm, Bobby muttered that he was thirsty and wandered off towards the kitchen. A brief silence followed his departure, marred only by the gentle turning of brittle, yellowed pages as Dean and Castiel continued their research. And then that silence was further broken by a series of wet smacking noises; the furtive rustle of hands on clothing; a quiet, questioning hum from Castiel, followed by a muffled moan from Dean.

“Dean!” Sam barked. “I'm blind, not deaf. Can't you control your baser urges for five minutes?”

“Sorry, Sam,” Dean said, sounding not the least bit contrite. “But what makes you think it was my fault?”

Sam silently considered this, feeling a wave of heat travel up his neck and blossom across his cheeks as he came to the only other logical conclusion. “Oh,” he said in a small voice. “Oh. Um.... Cas?”

“My apologies, Sam,” Castiel intoned. “But that little frown your brother gets when he's concentrating on something is... Well, it makes him...”

“Irresistible?” Dean chirped, and Sam could just imagine the smug look on his brother's face, the fond glance Castiel shot him in reply. This time, although the whisper of lips on lips was still very plain to hear, Sam kept silent, letting his brother and the angel enjoy their stolen kisses.

 

~*~

 

“Πήγασος,” Castiel exclaimed several minutes later, raising his head from the pages of an ancient and dusty tome as Bobby returned bearing the gift of beer for all.

“Gesundheit,” Dean offered, sliding his arm from its casually possessive rest on the back of Castiel's chair and reaching out an eager hand to claim a drink from the old hunter.

“No, Dean.” Castiel shook his head, clearly torn between amusement and exasperation. “Pegasus,” he translated, popping his own bottle cap and absentmindedly taking a long swallow of the cold beverage. “He has been known to be a friend to man. If you recall, he assisted the hero Bellerophon in his fight against both the Chimera and the Amazons. Perhaps, if we can locate him, he might prove sympathetic to Sam's plight.”

“Maybe,” Sam murmured doubtfully. “But didn't Zeus transform him into a constellation? That sounds pretty final to me.”

“Allegory,” Castiel said. “Many of the demigods resolved to avoid mankind, and myths were devised to explain their disappearance. Such was the case with Pegasus.”

“But has he been spotted on earth since ancient times?” Sam persisted. “Have you ever seen him, Cas?”

“No... I have not. And, admittedly, it has been thousands of years since any angel or man has made mention of an encounter. He may well be no more.”

“Which puts us back at square one,” Bobby grumbled.

“Perhaps not,” Castiel replied. “Legend has it that everywhere the winged horse struck his hoof to the earth, a sacred spring burst forth. One of these springs was upon Mount Helicon, another at Troezen. The Hippocrene Spring is of particular significance.”

“Those springs are sources of poetic inspiration, dedicated to the Muses,” Sam argued, resolutely ignoring his brother's muttered 'if you start spouting poetry, we're done.' “Why not seek out Apollo? Or, better still, his son Asclepius, the god of medicine and healing. He had temples at – ”

“Oh... my... God,” Dean groaned. “Just when I think you can't possibly get any nerdier, you manage to supersize your nerdiness.”

“Why don't you just fuck off, Dean,” Sam sputtered indignantly.

“Pegasus was sired by Poseidon, and foaled by the Gorgon Medusa,” Castiel said, raising his voice to be heard above the bickering brothers. “I believe this makes him, as you might say, our best shot.” 

“A blood connection to the gruesome aunts,” Dean mused, lightly tapping his half empty beer bottle against his bottom lip. “Huh. Doesn't get much better than that, does it? It's always about the blood.”

“Indeed,” Castiel agreed distractedly, obviously struggling to shift his focus away from Dean's lips and back to the discussion. “I propose that I take Sam to the Hippocrene, once the demons have been vanquished. Its holy water could prove beneficial.”

“Can't you take us there now?” Dean begged. “Please, Cas? If you're all mojoed up and there's a chance of curing Sam, then let's go. Bobby can stay here and hold down the fort. Right, Bobby?”

“Been takin' care of myself my whole life,” Bobby snorted. “Think I can manage to stay alive while you three idjits are off skinny-dipping.”

“Please, Cas?” Dean repeated. “It won't take long. Twenty minutes – half an hour, tops.”

Castiel hesitated, but the hope in Dean's eyes proved his undoing. “Very well,” he said reluctantly. “I will take you there. It is a propitious time... The sun is about to rise over the Acropolis.”

And, without a word of farewell, Bobby found himself sitting in his study alone.

 

~*~

 

“Fuck, Cas!” Dean exclaimed, his teeth chattering from the cold. “If I'd known you were dumping us in a snowdrift on a mountaintop, I'd have grabbed a coat.”

“This is where we need to be,” Castiel replied, serenely indifferent to the howling wind and subzero temperature. In deference to the shivering humans, however, he placed a hand on each man's shoulder and swiftly led them towards what appeared to be a sheer rock face. As they drew nearer, a shimmering veil of light began to coalesce into the shape of an arched doorway. Dean blinked, not trusting his eyes. But there was no denying the fact that the frigid mountain air abruptly warmed and a soft, floral scented breeze wafted up in greeting. 

“The Hippocrene spring is hidden unless you know just where to look,” Castiel explained. “It is both well protected, and under the enchantment of eternal summer.” He motioned to a dirt trail lined with anemones, rock roses, larkspur and other wildflowers; faint traces of greenery progressing to a riot of colour as it approached the newly revealed opening in the mountainside. 

“Now that's more like it!” Dean said, nodding approvingly. “So what are we waiting for?”

Castiel's hands dropped from the brothers' shoulders, and he retreated several paces. “I will keep watch,” he said.

“You're not coming?”

“The old ones are jealous of their dwindling powers. My Father is not welcome in this place, and so I will not lessen Sam's chances of success with my presence. In fact...” Castiel tilted his head and studied Dean. “Our bond may be a problem. My Grace is interwoven with your soul.”

“Sam can't do this alone!”

“No. He cannot.” Castiel shook his head in vexation. “I should have thought of this before! Perhaps, Bobby should join us...”

“If you think that's necessary,” Dean said. “But I'm still tagging along. It's my job to look after Sam.”

“Dean...” Sam began.

“I don't want to hear it!” Dean interrupted. “You're my brother. I'm there for you. End of story.”

“Do you still want to go back for Bobby, Cas?” Sam sighed.

“I think we can manage without him. But you must touch nothing, Dean. _Nothing._ Not even Sam. Once you enter the sacred grotto, only your voice may guide him. Both of you must remove your shoes and socks and make your approach barefooted to indicate your humility. The path to the spring is clear and well-trodden. At the water's edge you will find two bowls, identically detailed with an image of Pegasus in flight, but one is black on red, the other red on black. One is cracked and chipped, the other in pristine condition. Choose the less impressive of the two: the older, battered one with the red background. Kneel at the water's edge, Sam, and partially fill the bowl. Do not be greedy! Half full is more than adequate. Lift the bowl with both hands and hold it up in offering to the rising sun. Then, being very careful not to spill a drop or touch a finger to the bowl's contents, I want you to say: Μου χορηγήσετε την επούλωση με αυτό το αγιασμένο νερό. Grant me healing with this holy water.” 

“Μου χορηγήσετε την επούλωση με αυτό το αγιασμένο νερό,” Sam parroted, carefully enunciating each word.

“Perfect.” Castiel nodded. “Drink deeply, but do not completely drain the water from the bowl. Two or three swallows will suffice. If it works, your vision should immediately be restored. If it doesn't...”

“It will work,” Dean growled. “It has to work.”

“Whether or not you are successful,” Castiel said sternly, “you must say: Παρακαλώ δεχθείτε την ευγνωμοσύνη μου. Please accept my gratitude. Respectfully return the remaining water to the spring and the bowl to its proper place. Blessings take many forms – as do healings. Who's to say the answer is an unequivocal no, if gratification is not instantaneous.”

“ Μου χορηγήσετε την επούλωση με αυτό το αγιασμένο νερό,” Sam chanted softly under his breath. “Παρακαλώ δεχθείτε την ευγνωμοσύνη μου.”

Dean took his brother by the arm and carefully guided him towards the grotto. But, just before they stepped over the threshold where ancient and modern worlds miraculously united, he turned and gazed back at Castiel. “You'll be okay?” 

“Yes, Dean.” Castiel smiled, his feet enveloped by a small cloud of blustering snow, and frost already beginning to paint his dark hair white. “Take all the time you need. I'll just wait here and enjoy the sunrise.”

 

~*~

 

The path curved in a gentle slope down to the sparkling water of the spring. Dean hovered at Sam's side, his bare feet whispering through the sand as he directed Sam's progress.

“Two steps forward,” Dean advised. “Good. Turn a bit to your left. Um, okay, four steps forward, but be careful. The path's a bit uneven here, so – Sam!”

“Fuck!” Sam cried, as he suddenly felt himself falling. His knees and outstretched hands impacted heavily with the ground. “Fuck!” he repeated furiously. “You said _four_ steps, Dean. That dip was only _three_ steps away.”

“It's not my fault if you have legs like a giraffe,” Dean barked, fighting back the urge to reach out and help his sputtering brother.

Sam slowly clambered to his feet and dusted himself off. “Well?” he said impatiently, when Dean offered no further comment. “What's the holdup?”

Dean swallowed and forced his eyes away from his brother's scratched and bleeding palms. “You're facing the wrong way,” he answered finally. “Turn towards my voice. That's right. Hold on a sec.” Carefully, he paced ahead, exaggerating his stride to compensate for Sam's longer legs. “Okay. Five steps forward. Good. Now turn left again. No, that's too much. Yeah, that's better.”

Sam grumbled, but trustingly followed where Dean led.

It felt like it took forever to navigate the remaining distance to the water's edge. Sam's shirt was soaked with sweat and his heart was pounding hard against his ribs. He wasn't sure if it was from the effort of getting there or in anticipation of what was going to happen next, and he didn't waste time trying to figure it out. “Where's the bowl?” he said.

 

~*~

 

It was a glorious sunrise. Clearly the harbinger of an impending storm, but beautiful nevertheless. A pink blush raced across pristine blankets of snow as a heavier, golden glow embraced the surrounding mountain peaks. The sky was layered like a parfait, the arched levels rising in shades of lightest to darkest blue.

Castiel's heart was filled to overflowing with joy and wonder. His head tilted to one side, that he might better hear the songs of praise the universe sang in honour of his Father: the low hum of the distant stars, the rumbling bass of the earth, the lilting cadence of water, the rich vibrato of the ever moving air...

“Help him, Father,” Castiel prayed. “He is a good man, a worthy son, a devoted brother. He has served you well, despite the demon taint in his blood – a taint that was not of his doing or his choice – and he will continue to serve you to the end of his days. Please, lend your voice to ours and implore the old ones to restore his sight.” 

“Never mind, Cas,” Dean spoke quietly from behind him. “It's done.”

Instantly, Castiel's gaze turned from the horizon and shot towards the grotto's entrance, focusing upon the Winchesters where they stood verging on the brink of winter, the breath of summer still caressing their backs. 

“It didn't work,” Sam said, face and voice both devoid of emotion. His head was up, his stance proudly stoic, but his knuckles were white where his fingers gripped Dean's sleeve. 

Dean's shoulders drooped beneath the crushing weight of his disappointment. Overly bright green eyes shimmered with unshed tears, one perfectly formed drop finally escaping to slide down his cheek, silently speaking the words he could not bring himself to say. 

It wasn't a rational decision on the angel's part but, somehow, Castiel knew it was the right thing to do. Swiftly, he crossed the small space between them and wrapped both humans in his arms, burying his face against Dean's neck, and mouthing words of comfort against the sensitive skin he found there. Dean and Sam gripped him back every bit as tightly as he held them, Dean's long-standing 'no chick flick moments' rule temporarily cast aside. After a few seconds, Castiel began to rub soothing circles on Sam's broad back while, at the same time, he nudged Dean's lips into alignment and swallowed his lover's shaky sigh with a fervent kiss.

Sam stood quietly in the double embrace, patiently waiting for his brother and the angel to take him home.

 

~*~

 

It took almost twelve weeks for Castiel to be anywhere close to satisfied that the onslaught of demons and other entities converging on Bobby house had been repelled. In no small measure was this a testament to his vigilance and the stark terror an Angel of the Lord struck in evil hearts. Not that they all departed peacefully. Often, too often, Castiel returned to Dean bloodied and exhausted. Sometimes, the blood shed was his own. Tight-lipped with worry, Dean patched him up and took him to his bed. There, he wrapped his arms around his angel and held on as tightly as Castiel's injuries allowed. Sometimes, they made love. Sometimes, most times, they simply nestled close together, exchanging whispers and slow kisses until Dean unwillingly succumbed to slumber. In the morning, the angel was always gone, the warm imprint of his body the only evidence that he'd been there at all.

It was enough to drive Dean up the wall. Watching time pass, each day blending into the next with little to distinguish one from the other, created an itch he couldn't seem to scratch. He considered taking on a small hunting job, but the look of panic which swept across Sam's face at the mere suggestion of him being out there on his own was enough to kill that idea on the spot. And that brought him right back to having too much time for thinking on his hands, and far too many heavy thoughts to bear.

Normally, Dean left research to others – not because he was not good at it, he simply preferred a more direct approach to a problem: shoot it, salt it, burn it. But now, with Castiel hellbent on waging a war on some celestial plane of existence and Sam out of commission, the hunter flung himself wholeheartedly into research. It didn't exactly keep his fears at bay, but it helped fill the hours until Castiel's return. 

When Dean grew too restless to remain in a chair, he took his equally antsy brother outside for fresh air and a little exercise: mostly walks, or light hand-to-hand combat which sometimes escalated into full-out wrestling. Lack of vision had slowed Sam down, but he was pleased to find he still had good reflexes and an uncanny sense of where his adversary was at any given time. More often than not in these impromptu matches, Dean was the one who found himself pinned flat on his back while Sam stuffed handfuls of snow down his shirt.

With the aid of a cane and the entire household committed to keeping things in their proper place, Sam didn't do too badly navigating his way through Bobby's house. In fact, he was becoming too damned comfortable with his affliction for Dean's liking. Too resigned. Too prone to making long-term plans. 

Bobby encouraged this. Castiel did too.

Dean was the only one who refused to accept that Sam's blindness was forever. So, when he hit upon a promising lead in one of Bobby's ancient texts, he kept it to himself. Castiel, Sam and Bobby were far too busy and distracted to notice Dean's growing obsession. And that, as far as Dean was concerned, was just peachy-keen. Because no one was going to stop his budding plan from happening. No one. Not even Castiel.


End file.
